The Meaning of Identity
by Strabec
Summary: Two gruesome murders. A man without a past and an old friend, well I say friend, spell trouble for Sherlock and John. Please read and review! Now complete!
1. Valentines Day

This was originally based on a certain Sherlock Holmes film released in 2010. The idea was to update it, change it around for modern day purposes and use the BBC characters in it. However the story grew arms and legs and ran away.

What might interest you though is that I still managed to include a certain hotel room scene. It has been slightly tweaked (for the better I am informed), and it is the most enjoyable scenes I've ever written. If you want to skip to that, it is the chapter called: '**Aint I a stinkah?**' (_*Once I've posted it up obviously! Paitience is a virtue!*_). So If you can't be bothered to read the whole thing, **please** **do read** that chapter, I really enjoyed writing it. I mean _really_ enjoyed it (drool drool).

Meanwhile...from the beginning

1

Valentines Day

The first thug seized Sherlock from behind. The second came at him with a knife. The first had him in a neck lock and was squeezing the air from his throat. Sherlock managed kick the second away whilst trying to free himself from the first. The second got up and with a sadistic smile held up the knife so the blade shone on the moonlight. Then a glazed expression came over him and he fell to his knees and fell forward into the mud. The first thug relaxed his grip briefly. Sherlock elbowed him sharply in the ribs. The thug doubled over. Sherlock spun round and punched him straight in the face. There was a satisfied crunch as the thugs nose broke and he joined his frioend in the mud.

"You're late." Sherlock said to John as he brushed of his coat. John rolled his eyes.

"It's Valentines day Sherlock. I was having dinner with Sarah. You had all of last week to try and get yourself killed, why pick tonight?"

"Valentines Day?" Sherlock sounded puzzled. John shook his head and handed him a torch.

"Never mind."

It was late at night in one of London's many parks. They stood outside some public toilets which had been closed for maintenance.

"Why are we here?" John asked. All Sherlock's text had said was where and when to meet. "Is it to do with John McFarlane's disappearance?"

"I found some traces that place him here." Sherlock said impaitently. He crouched down by the padlock on the door.

"This lock has been recently replaced." He said. He shone the torch on the ground outside. "Yes, our two friends dragged McFarlane to this door, then they pushed him inside."

"Do you want me to search them for the key?" John asked.

"No need." Sherlock said as the padlock fell to Sherlock's skill. He pushed to door open and they both shone their torches down the dark stairwell. Only the first couple of stairs were visable. The rest was pitch black. The torch's light swallowed by the darkness. Sherlock stepped in. A low, primeval growl filled the silence. Two eyes appeared at the bottom of the stairs. In a flash a dog jumped on him. Its mouth open and teeth trying to tear at his face. There was a sharp crack and the dog went limp. John stood in the doorway, gun in hand looking down the stairwell.

"Sherlock!" John said warning as he got back to his feet. Five more pairs of eyes appeared in the gloom, the low growl increased by a decibel. Then as one they started to pound up the stairs towards them. Instinct took over. John fired five times. Five dogs lay dead.

"The RSPCA aren't going to be happy with me." John commented. Sherlock put a hand on his shoulder.

"They would've have been put down anyway. These are Pit bull terriers. They are on the dangerous dogs list." Sherlock pushed past John and started down the stairs. John followed. The darkness seemed to have a substance of it's own. Their torches cutting through, showing glimpses of floor or wall, They passed the dogs bodies, blood stained their faces flesh hung from their teeth. John started and headed for one of the dogs. He prised it's mouth open.

"God!" He breathed.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked standing behind him.

"It's a finger. A human finger." Sherlock nodded.

"I though it might be. I hoped I was wrong."

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs. The place smelled of damp, their footsteps splashing in grimy water. A row of cubicles showed in the torchlight, a row of sinks faced them. In the last cubicle they could just see a foot poking out of the door, a trail of blood twisting and turning in the water running away from it. In the cubicle, looking as though he'd been desparately fighting off the attacking dogs, was the remains of a man. John had seen solider ripped apart by landmines, but there was something altogether gruesome about a man torn apart by ravaging dogs. Even Sherlock's eyes widened at the sight. They both jumped when the victims eyes flickered open. John rushed to him, Sherlock was already calling Lestrade. The man gargled, blood spruting from his mouth.

"You're going to be alright." John lied. The man grabbed his jacket. John tried not to notice the missing fingers. He allowed the man to pull him close, he whispered a barely audible word in John's ear. Then the man's hands suddenly fell away, his head smacked on the floor.

"What did he say?" Sherlock asked.

"It sounded like 'Obsidian'."

The sound of sirens grew closer. Soon the toilets had been surrounded by police, forensics, two ambulances and tape. Anderson was complaining about the inconvenient and mucky location of the body. Lestrade stood looking at Sherlock, his arms folded.

"So you're telling me some bastard filled that place up with hungry dogs, pushed McFarlane in and locked the door?"

"I think our two friends pushed McFarlane in. I don't think they placed the dogs there. They were placed in their earlier and tied to a remote release..." Sherlock looked up suddenly. John recognised the look, as did Lestrade. Without a word he pushed past them, past an annoyed Anderson and ran down the stairs into the toilets again. Lestrade and John followed behind. They found Sherlock studying the ceiling with a curious intensity. Suddenly he grinned and pointed to a small black spot. Lestrade frowned at it.

"What's that?"

"A small infra-red camera, probably sending a feed to a computer somewhere."

"So whoever did this was watching!" John exclaimed.

"How else did they know to release the dogs?"

"Right, we'll trace the feed to it's source." Lestrade said.

"Whoever was watching will have got rid of the computer by know."

They left Lestrade giving orders at the crime scene, and got in a taxi to return to Baker street.

"You didn't tell him about Obsidian." John observed.

"Nothing to tell. Until we have data it is meaningless."

"His parents will want to know who murdered him." John pointed out.

"Hmm." Sherlock replied, a frown furrowing his brow.

"Something bothering you?" John asked.

"The style of the murder. It's too...fussy." Sherlock said.

"Fussy?" John exclaimed.

"Yes. Arranging to break into the public lavatories, hiding the dogs there, putting them on remote releases, starving them for a few days, hiring two gorillas to push McFarlane down there. A simple bullet through the head would have done the job just as well." Sherlock paused for breath. "and the camera." he added thoughtfully. The journey continued in silence until they reached Baker street, John knowing that if he interrupted him he would have been snapped at angrily.

When they got back. Sherlock went straight to his computer. Knowing that would be Sherlock occupied for what remained of the night, John took the opportunity to go to bed. He had to be up for work the following day.

The next day John entered the living room to find Sherlock still at his desk, still on the computer.

"Have you been up all night?" Sherlock looked up.

"What time is it?"

"Eight o'clock." John said

"Then yes I have." Sherlock replied, John shook his head and headed for the kitchen.

"Just tea for me thanks." Sherlock called after him. A short time later a cup of tea materialised by his computer. He looked up as John prepared to leave.

"Where are you going?"

"To work. If I am to continue to pay my half of the rent and bills then I need the income!" John said and before Sherlock could say anything more he left. Sherlock would have said that the rent was of the least importance, and he would help out if John didn't have the money. But he also knew John's pride wouldn't be able to accept it, so he said nothing.

Please review. I like reviews! Pretty please with icing on the top?


	2. The Adler Woman

Author's note: I tend to make up names of TV shows, gadgets and so on. Just thought you'd like to know.

2

The Adler Woman

Later that day, after a long irritating and pointless interview with Lestrade Sherlock returned to 221b, threw himself on the couch and finally gave into his body's desire for sleep. He woke at the touch of a soft feminine hand caressing his face. She sat perched on the edge of the couch a pair of bright green, mischievous eyes looking at him. He pushed himself up into a seated position out of her reach.

"What are you doing here?" He asked coldly. The woman smiled teasingly.

"Can't I visit an old friend?" Her voice was soft with a slight American twang. She was tall and slim, with bronze coloured hair flecked with red and gold.

"We were never 'old friends' Irene." Sherlock said coolly rising from the couch.

"Old times then?" Irene suggested, settling back into the couch spreading her arms along the back.

"To be accurate. One old time." Sherlock corrected.

"But it left such a lasting impression." Irene said with a smile. Sherlock looked at her his expression softened briefly.

"Well? Why are you here?" Sherlock asked.

"Do you mean 'here in Britain?' or 'here in Baker street'?"

"Both."

"I'm here promoting my latest film 'The Daisy Killers'. I'm on 'The Wiseman show' tonight."

"How good for you." Sherlock said.

"No need for sarcasm." Irene replied.

"I thought you'd be here chasing a husband or something."

"I have one. Thanks for the offer though." Sherlock rolled his eyes. Irene smiled wickedly and continued. "Gordon Clark. The financier?"

"Ah, chairman of the Clark and Smith Holdings PLC?" Sherlock asked

"The same. I met him 10 years ago...After my divorce." She narrowed her eyes meaningfully. "We were very happy believe it or not. He's giving s lot of money to the Church of Utnapishtim."

"And you're worried about you eventual divorced settlement?"

"I don't get divorced for fun you know."

"How do you want me to help?" Sherlock asked.

"Call it instinct but I think there's something wrong with that church." She shook her head thoughtfully.

"There was a lot of controversy surrounding it."

"So all the evidence you have is simple instinct?" Sherlock said derisively. She narrowed her eyes.

"You're not going to help?"

"No." Sherlock said, and walked over to the window and looked out of it.

"Hmm. I knew that'd be your answer."

Just then the door opened and John came in. He stopped in the doorway and stared at Irene.

"Hi!" she said coming over to him. "You're John Watson aren't you? I love you blog!" she smiled at him and looked back at Sherlock.

"Are you absolutely sure?" She asked. Sherlock shot her an icy look. She inclined her head towards him and then left. John turned in shook to Sherlock.

"That was Irene Adler!" He said gasping. Sherlock threw himself back on to the sofa with a newspaper.

"Irené." Sherlock corrected automatically.

"That was her? Star of 'The Daisy Killers'?" John sounded surprised. Sherlock sighed not looking at him.

"Irene Adler. Forty-two years old. Actress, musician, novelist. She speaks eight languages fluently and she has travelled around the world twice."

"Remarkable." John said

"She's been married twice, and had numerous lovers in-between. In her previous divorce she was not cited as the 'guilty party'." Sherlock continued.

"How do you know her?" John asked. Sherlock glanced at him.

"We met. Once." Sherlock said, from the tone in his voice John knew he would get no further.

Please? Reviews? :-)


	3. The Freak Show

3

The Freak Show

"John!" Sherlock called. John woke with a start to find Sherlock sitting on his bed fully dressed and seemingly ready to go out.

"What is it?" John asked yawning.

"Lestrade had called, there's been another murder. Are you coming?"

"Yes of course."

"Taxi's downstairs. Five minutes." Sherlock left the room. John then looked at his clock. 3am. He groaned.

"What I'd really like is one nights undisturbed sleep. Just one." John muttered.

"Yes but this is more fun." Sherlock called back. The look on John's face would've soured milk.

A quiet anonymous house in a quiet anonymous street. Police had cordoned off a house. People were standing on the other side, huddled in their coats curious about their neighbours goings-on. The taxi stopped just short of the blue tape. As Sherlock and John got out, Sally Donovan lifted up the tape to let them through. She had none of her usual sarcasm and fire, and John took this as a sign that what lay within the house was not going to be pretty. They entered the house. It was furnished in an ordinary way. Cream coloured walls, laminate flooring, family photographs lining the walls of the staircase. Lestrade met them at the top of the stairs.

"Bathroom." He said grimly. "It's not good." He aimed this remark solely at John.

John drew in a hissed breath. Sherlock was already examining the body seemingly fascinated. The bathroom was a small one, with a shower but no bath. There was room for a bath, and a cast-iron tub-like one had been pushed in through the door. A body of a man lay in it, though it was barely recognisable. Skin hung off his face, his body covered in hideous burns.

"The bath." Sherlock said. "It's full of nitric acid." John turned to Lestrade who seemed transfixed.

"You think this is linked to the first murder?"

"He and McFarlane worked together at the stock exchange." Lestrade answered. "Apparently before McFarlane disappeared they had an argument."

"What about?" Sherlock asked, bringing out his small magnifying glass and examining the floor with it.

"It was about a computer glitch. They had to replace it."

"What was wrong with the computer?" Sherlock asked, who was now turning his attention to the light fittings.

"Nothing, that's what McFarlane was angry about. His boss said he was complaining about it being a waste of money and resources. Now Sherlock I want to catch this bastard quickly. I need anything you've got."

"What's his name?" Sherlock nodded towards the corpse. Lestrade sighed.

"Mark Jamieson. Now Sherlock..."

"Find out if he and John McFarlane had phobias." Sherlock said.

"Phobias? What..?" Lestrade sounded startled.

"Look Sherlock, why don't you tell us what you've got?" John said quickly, sensing an argument brewing between Lestrade and Sherlock.

"This bathroom has been recently tilled and fitted out. It's big enough for a bath so why isn't there one? It must have been fitted out to Mark Jamieson's specifications, so he must have intentionally chosen a walk in shower instead of a bath. The murderer choose this method of death. They deliberately placed a bath in his bathroom and put Jamieson in it. There are signs that someone stood over him for some time before leaving."

"Watching him die?" John asked. Sherlock looked at him.

"Yes."

"You think that the murderer chose this method because he had a phobia of baths? And McFarlane a phobia of dogs?" John suggested.

"It is a possibility." Sherlock acknowledged.

"We'll find out." Lestrade said with a nod. They went downstairs. Sherlock suddenly stopped by one of the pictures hanging on the wall. He took it down. He was not examining the contents but the shiny black frame. Sherlock carefully put the picture back, his expression grim. He saw John looking at him and very slightly shook his head.

John didn't get a word out of Sherlock whilst he they were travelling back. He sat beside him tapping away madly on his phone. Then at Baker street he dashed upstairs and practically leapt on to the computer. John decided his best plan know was to keep silent. Suddenly Sherlock let out an exclamation.

"What it is?"

"There isn't a single picture of Edward Obsidian anywhere!" Sherlock said angrily.

"Edward Obsidian? Is that what McFarlane was saying?" John asked.

"I can't theorise with data." Sherlock said dismissively.

"How will his picture help?" John tried. Sherlock sat back from the computer screen and looked at him.

"It's just an idea."

"Well I promise if you're wrong, I won't tell anyone." John said. "Your reputation for infallibility can remain intact." Sherlock smiled fondly at him. Then he leaned forward and spoke.

"You remember me telling you that Mrs Hudson husband had been sentenced to death in America?"

"Yes, you said you made sure it happened."

"Indeed. Whilst I was there I undertook a few other commissions. Brody and Alison Chandler had hired me to find their daughter Faith who was a receptionist in a local government building in Utah. The last person to see her was her boss, Alexander Blackstone. The people she worked with said that on the day she went missing she and Blackstone had had an argument. Blackstone hadn't mentioned that when I questioned him. Her colleagues did not know exactly what the argument was about but involved letting someone in without performing the necessary security checks. The governor of the state was due to visit the small office. It seemed obvious that something was being planned around his visit and that Blackstone was involved. I advised the governor of what I had learned, and he cancelled the visit, but without telling the office. The office courier arrived an hour before the governor was due and was met by Blackstone. The police moved in, and found the box the courier was carrying contained a bomb. Blackstone and the courier were arrested. Blackstone's house was searched and at first there was no sign of Faith. However in the fridge there were an enormous amount of meat pies."

"Oh no." John said. Sherlock nodded.

"The pies were tested and found to contain the remains of Faith Chandler. He had a large meat grinder in his back yard which had been very thoroughly cleaned. When confronted Blackstone said it was an appropriate death for her as Faith was a vegan."

"That is sick." John shook his head. "But how does this relate to the other murder's?" Sherlock sat back in his chair looking thoughtful.

"Obsidian is a type of volcanic glass. Many people incorrectly believe it to be a stone."

"A black stone? Is that what you think?"

"It is a long shot, and on the face of it it can't be him. He was executed in Texas eleven years ago."

"Maybe the sentence was changed to life in prison and..." John suggested, but Sherlock cut in.

"He was given the electric chair. I was there."

"That's why you were looking for a picture of Obsidian? To see if was him." John asked.

"Yes, even if he's had plastic surgery I'd recognise him. That is why we are going to Letchworth."

"Le- Letchworth?" The sudden collision of several trains of thought de-railed John.

"That is where Dr Edward Obsidian's business address is." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock, I've been up since 3am, it is now 7am and I have to go work!"

"That's alright." Sherlock said innocently. "I wasn't thinking of leaving until 9pm."

"Oh right, so I can get back after a long day at work, go to work for a late night break in, and get back here in time to go straight to work the following day. Why do I let you talk me into these things?" John put his coat on and headed for the door. Sherlock opened his mouth to answer.

"Don't answer that." John called as he hurried down the stairs.

Please review! Pretty please with a cherry on the top?


	4. The Church of Utnapishtim

Need I say that The Church of Utnapishtim is a complete figment of my imagination? It doesn't exist. I thought I better point this out. Better safe than sorry though.

Church of Utnapishtim

John looked out from the corner of the large house, his heart hammering against his chest. Excitement, tension and adrenaline mixed as they usually did when on a case with Sherlock. More recently a large dose of irritation was added to the mix. He tried to remember the point where 'help you pay the rent' became 'help you house break'.

Sherlock worked on the lock with consummate skill, John wondered how he'd come by it.

"There." Sherlock whispered as the lock fell open.

John did not want a quiet life. He revelled in the action and danger that Sherlock's hectic life provided which sometimes made him wonder if he was just as crazy Sherlock. Sherlock glanced at the copperplate on the door before pushing it open.

"Church of Utnapishtim. Dr Edward Obsidian."

"Church of what?" John whispered in the darkness of the hall, he heard Sherlock sigh.

"Utnapishtim, part of the legend of Gilgamesh. Gilgamesh came to Utnapishtim for advice on how to become immortal."

The long hallway had a staircase at the end, and two rooms which lead of either side of the corridor. Sherlock entered one room and since John didn't know what Sherlock was looking for, kept watch in the doorway. They appeared to be in a study. The wall were lined with shelves full of books. On the floor there were several base units for computers. The desk was piled high with papers. John saw Sherlock, torch in mouth, eagerly rifling through them.

"Sherlock what are we doing here?" John demanded with a whisper.

"To find a connection between Obsidian and Blackstone."

Suddenly Sherlock went quiet, he was looking at a sheet of paper, reading it with intense interest. John came over.

"What is it?"

"Plans. Look. It's the layout of the London stock exchange." Sherlock rifled through more papers. Then smiled suddenly.

"Careless, very careless."

"What is?" John asked.

"Accounts. Several Large payments from Gordon Clark."

"Who?"

"Irene's husband. There are other high financiers on here too. It also seems once a month money is paid to an offshore account in America."

They froze. There was a creak from the stairs. Sherlock turned off his torch and they headed for the door. They pressed themselves against the wall either side of the door. Light flooded in. Two enormous men stood in the doorway. The Golem had been large. But these two had him beat on width. They were twice as wide as Sherlock and John put together. Sherlock was frowning slightly.

"There must have been an invisible beam somewhere."

"Oh great, no wonder we didn't see it."

"Just a minute." One of them said briefly disappearing from view. The other grinned at them. The first returned handing a large heavy chain to his friend whilst he kept hold of his lump hammer. John's eyes remained fixed on the weapons, but Sherlock merely sighed.

"How dull."

Just as the two men advanced, Sherlock picked up a chair and hurled it at the window. Which singularly failed to break.

"Oh. Armoured glass!" Sherlock said a little surprised as he ducked and rolled out of the way of the hammer. The one with the chain was whirling carelessly around, not caring what it hit. John jumped and ducked the falling chain. Paper and wood exploded as the chain hit the bookcase. John saw his chance and punched him in the stomach. He didn't try again the man's stomach appeared to be made of bricks!

Suddenly an idea came to him. John was at least a foot shorter than the man attacking him. The man hefted the chain above his head to bring it crashing down on John's skull. He ducked and kept going sliding between the man's legs and ran for the door. Chain man followed him, when hammer man called.

"Never mind him, it's the tall one we want."

Chain turned. Hammer had cornered Sherlock behind behind the desk. Chain joined him. John started to run back.

"No John!" Sherlock shouted. Hammer and chain took no notice.

"But Sherlock..." John called.

"Just go!" Sherlock shouted back. "I'll be alright."

"I wouldn't count on it." Hammer said hefting the heavy object from hand to hand. Sherlock tutted.

"Really? Couldn't you think of anything more original?"

It was against all John's instincts but he ran out into the street, the bangs and crashes ringing in his ears. John stopped and calmly took out his phone.

Please read and review!


	5. Boredom

Boredom

Golden fingers of light stabbed through the small window of the holding cell. The dirty white tiles showing grey in the sudden light. The cell was small, barely three paces across. An uncomfortable, hard bed taking up one side. Sherlock sat on the bed, his eyes closed trying to calm the raging spirit inside him. Lestrade's idea of a joke he guessed. His mind raced; pacing, snarling scratching and roaring at the walls of his mind. He needed to be kept occupied or he tore himself to pieces. It was a fault he knew. He felt that he could handle almost anything, except boredom. He had been assured that you couldn't die of boredom but he didn't want to take the risk. Damn Lestrade! Sherlock thought. He had found a thread and was now prevent from following up because of him!

John had called the police, Lestrade to be exact, to report a break in. Even though he hadn't left his name Lestrade had sensed it was important and five minutes later Sherlock, Hammer and Chain had been arrested and taken to the police cells. Hammer and Chain had protested their innocence saying that they were security guards. Problems ensued when the police asked to see their SIA licences. Sherlock was hurried into a cell whilst the rest of the station tried to subdue Hammer and Chain. The cells were soundproof, so Sherlock didn't hear much after that. Actually he didn't care. They weren't important or relevant. His mind was was tearing itself to pieces. The few scant facts of the case continually whirling around his mind. His inability to go out and pursue new threads building up the frustration he felt. They'd taken his phone, so he didn't even have that to distract him. They'd also taken his nicotine patches, which was driving him further up the wall. He tried to sleep, but his mind was still to active.

The door created open. Lestrade stood in the doorway looking at the cell in wonder. Sherlock didn't move, waiting.

"Still in one piece? I expected the cell to be in bits."

Sherlock nodded inwardly and stood up. Lestrade grinned.

"Alright, you can go."

"To what do I owe my freedom?"

"Friends in high places." Lestrade answered.

Ah Mycroft. Sherlock thought.

At the main desk Sherlock found John waiting for him. A police handed him an envelope containing his things. Sherlock quickly dug his phone and the instant he switched it on, it rang.

"Thank you Mycroft."

"Gratitude? From you Sherlock?"

"Don't push it."

"Anyway I was quite prepared to leave you there. John persuaded me otherwise." Sherlock glanced at John. Mycroft continued.

"Blackstone."

"Yes?"

"I've contacted the relevant authorities and had his body exhumed."

"And?"

"It wasn't there. It had been substituted for one Brody Chandler who went missing about the same time the execution happened. A few months after Blackstone's execution a certain Dr Edward Obsidian pops up."

Sherlock ended the call, turning to John he said.

"Lets get back to London. I've an appointed with Mrs Adler."

"Thank you John for getting me out of the police cell." John muttered.

"Sherlock, have you got anything on these two murders?" Lestrade asked.

"The murders were committed by or least on behalf of Dr Edward Obsidian. McFarlane and Jamieson both worked at the stock exchange. Probably John McFarlane found out that Obsidian and Jamieson were planning something involving the Stock exchange. A bomb most likely. I would advise you contact them and tell them to increase their security."

"Right." Lestrade sounded worried and surprised. "I'll get on to it right away. But how..?"

"McFarlanes last word was Obsidian, John can confirm that. Whilst I was at Letchworth there were floor plans for the Stock exchange on Obsidian's table. I imagine if you investigate his finances thoroughly you'll find some connection to bomb manufacturing. Also I noticed several shells of computers in the study. I some of McFarlanes colleagues mentioned and argument between McFarlane and Jamieson concerning the ordering of a new computer. I think you'll find that was a dry run for the planting of the bomb."

They left the police station. Sherlock demonstrated his unusual knack for flagging down the first taxi that passed them as they got in John looked at him him briefly before turning his gaze to the window. Casually he hoped.

"So your going to see Irene?" He asked.

"Yes." Sherlock replied. John sighed, realising that Sherlock would only expand on his answers if he felt like it. John weighed his chances, deciding in the end a direct question would either get a response or it wouldn't.

"Why? Do you think she's involved?"

"It's a possibility. She came to Baker street asking me to look into the Church of Utnapishtim. I turned her down." He paused thoughtfully.

"And now your going to waltz back to her saying you are interested?" John asked. Sherlock frowned at him.

"Yes. Why?"

John laughed and shook his head.

"I just hope she has a forgiving nature."

"Oh." Sherlock said.

_Will Irene be happy with Sherlock changing his mind? Or will she think that he is using everybody to suit his own ends as usual and needs to be taught a lesson? Read the next chapter to find out!_

Shameless review plea!


	6. Ain't I a stinkah!

I won't beat about the bush. This was the most fun chapter to write! I hope you enjoy it too!

Ain't I a stinkah?

They had met briefly in New York and then again in Baker street. To hear them talking together you might be fooled into thinking that they had known each other for years. Sherlock found Irene's hotel without much effort at all. The press had been full of her visit to Britain and were dogging her every footstep. The paparazzi waiting at every conceivable entrance to the hotel. Sherlock got in through the service entrance without much trouble. A young impressionable cleaner taking a fancy to the detective's grey eyes and slim form. Finding Irene's room number posed no problem for him either. He was about to knock when she opened it. He smiled broadly with no hint of sincerity and made his way inside.

"Oh Come in." She said sarcastically, closing the door behind him.

"Church of Utnapishtim." He said turning to her. She was dressed in a long shimmering copper dress, halter neck and virtually backless.

"You said you weren't interested."

"I'm interested now." She rolled her eyes.

"Typical and they say women are fickle." She sat down on one of the plush chintz chairs and motioned him to sit in the other. He made no move and she raised an eyebrow.

"Can't we at least be comfortable?" Sherlock inclined his head.

"Wine?" She pointed at a silver tray with a bottle of wine and two glasses.

"I remember you have a particular tastes in wine."Sherlock commented.

"Well you'll noticed this one is a screw top, unopened. Quite impossible to remove and put back again without your eagle eyes noticing it."

"I'll stick to water."

"Hmm, dull. Well the bathrooms that way, or there's the mini bar. But the prices are extortionate."

Sherlock opted for the bathroom and returned with a glass of water. Irene had opened the bottle of wine and was sipping delicately from a glass. Sherlock sat opposite her.

"So, what's changed?" Irene asked.

"Two people who work for your husband have been murdered."

"And the Church of Utnapishtim was implicated?" She asked. She leaned forward the low neckline of her dress inadvertently catching his eye.

"What is your husbands connection to the Church?"

"He's the money. He persuades other rich, gullible financiers to give it money too." She paused, took another sip from her glass and continued. "When he left the US he got an office in the London stock exchange. The Church of Utnapistim floats on the stock market and he looks after that."

Sherlock sipped the water.

"Does he know Dr Edward Obsidian?" Sherlock asked

"The church's founder? Did you know he introduced me to Gordon? He was the best man at the wedding. I say best..."

"No I didn't." Sherlock said slowly.

"They work very closely together. I thought the church was a cover for something." Irene looked puzzled.

"And you couldn't find out what?" Sherlock asked, a hint of patronizing amusement in his voice. She narrowed her eyes.

"How are you enjoying your water Sherlock?" She asked levelly. A slow smile spreading across her face. His head suddenly felt very heavy. He tried to stand but his legs felt like, and he tumbled to the floor. He rolled over, he could just make out Irene's feet as she stood over him.

"Damn! How?" He managed to say.

"Should've gone with the wine." She replied. He saw it then. Hide a water soluble drug in the tap, brilliant!

Then his world went black.

Sherlock had vanished soon after arriving back at Baker Street. John had taken advantage of Sherlock's absence and called Sarah. He knew was taking a risk, Sherlock was bound to call or text at an awkward moment. However they'd had dinner and no text. They watched television, still nothing. John was starting to relax. He and Sarah were sitting together on the sofa. She snuggled closer to him, and kissed him on the cheek. He turned. Their kisses were short at first but gradually grew in passion and intensity. Her hands roamed his body. He held her closer, his hands exploring the skin beneath her top...

RING!

A look of fury creeping on to John's face, whilst Sarah was trying to keep the amusement from her's.

The phone persisted.

"I'll kill him." John said. "I will kill him."

"No you won't." Sarah said pulling down her top. "You'd get bored." She got up and headed for the bathroom. John snatched up his phone.

"Sherlock!" John shouted angrily. "This had better be spectacularly important!"

"You're at Sarah's." Sherlock said slowly.

"Excellent deduction!" John growled.

"I need you to get here quickly." Sherlock said.

"Oh great. I'll just drop everything and run so you can use me as your personal doormat! Give me one good reason why I don't hang up on you right now!"

Actually John knew he wouldn't, but he was feeling annoyed and used. There was a pause at the end of the phone. John was calming down now, so this time he caught the stress and tension in his voice.

"I'm really sorry John. Please hurry?"

Sorry? God Sherlock must be in trouble.

"What's happened? Are you alright?" He asked a little anxiously.

"I'm...fine. Are you coming?" another pause. "Please?"

He used the words 'sorry' and 'please' as though they were alien to him. It was the fact that Sherlock actually made the effort that won him over.

"Ok, where are you?" He could hear the relief in Sherlock's voice.

"Room 69. The Xavier hotel."

"What are you doing there?"

"John!"

"Alright, alright I'm coming!"

Getting the card for the room was a lot easier than he had anticipated. Irene had left a message with reception that if a Dr Watson asked for the key he was to be given it. He approached the room with some apprehension. Sherlock was in some kind of trouble, he guessed, but he was able to call. It didn't sound as though he was being coerced.

He slotted the card into the door, the red light turned green and he entered. There was a short corridor leading into the room.

"Sherlock?" he called cautiously.

John stopped abruptly at the end of the corridor. He stared, his mouth open. Then he spluttered with laughter.

"You look wonderful! What happened?" John said in between laughs. Sherlock sighed irritably.

"Finished?" John shook his head, collapsing against the wall with a fresh bout of laughter. Sherlock had been handcuffed to the bed, his arms spread as wide as possible so he couldn't reach anything and he had stripped completely naked. Sherlock had managed to strategically place a cushion, his long pale white legs crossed over it.

Sherlock fixed John with a steady glare. Gradually John regained his composure.

"Keys?" He asked, Sherlock nodded towards the dressing table. John retrieved the keys and headed towards Sherlock.

"Come on then. What happened?"

"Urgh." Sherlock said impatiently. "Irene Adler."

John stopped in act of putting the keys in the lock.

"What happened between you and Irene? How do you know her?"

"It's not important."

John pulled the keys from the lock without undoing the handcuffs.

"These look like police handcuffs. I should call Lestrade and see if he wants to come and collect them."

"John..." Sherlock said warningly.

John had pulled out his phone.

"Tell me about Irene."

"It was a long time ago."

John held up his phone in one hand and the keys in the other.

"Tell me."

"John!" Sherlock growled. John smiled unmoving.

"What's Lestrade number again?" John said thoughtfully

"Your trying my patience."

"Maybe Donovan and Anderson..."

"You wouldn't dare!" Sherlock snarled. Then he closed his eyes taking a couple of steadying breaths. Gritting his teeth he said.

"Fine. Yes. Alright. Release me first."

John put the key in the lock.

"Oh and one more thing."

"Yes?" Sherlock glared.

"No more heads in the fridge. Or eyes in the microwave."

"Where else was I...Yes alright."

John unlocked one set of handcuffs and moved to the other side of the bed.

"You enjoyed that." Sherlock said rubbing his wrists. John smirked. Sherlock huffed.

"Where are my clothes?"

"Here." John said handing them to him.


	7. Paying the Price

Paying the price

Gordon Clark froze as he turned the corner heading to the Stock Exchange. There were police everywhere carrying serious looking machine guns, searching people as they entered and exited the building. He gulped and headed back to his car. Once settled in the drivers seat he took out his mobile phone.

"The police are everywhere!" He failed to keep the fright from his voice.

"I know. The police were tipped of to a potential bomb threat." Obsidian sounded mildly irritated. Gordon frowned. "I hope you don't think..."

"Oh don't worry. I know precisely who it was." Obsidian said. "We had better dispose of the evidence. Can you meet me in the usual place in 10 minutes?" Gordon looked at his watch.

"No problem. You're… just going to give up then?" He sounded puzzled.

"The heightened security will last some considerable time. No attempt can be made. I will have to re-think my plans."

Obsidian ended the call to Gordon smiling. Considering the amount of money he'd just lost for failing to blow up the stock exchange he looked unusually happy. He turned to the computer on his desk and re-played John McFarlane's last moments. Then he watched as two figures entered. He paused the recording on Sherlock. Sherlock had inconvenienced him before, the arrogant young pup. Thinking himself superior to everyone around him. Sherlock would have to be dealt with. He watched the recording a little more, this time paying more attention to the second smaller figure, Dr John Watson. This was the same man Sherlock had brought with him on his useless attempt at searching his house. Obsidian frowned. When he had met Sherlock before he did not seem the type to involve other people in his work unless absolutely necessary. It seemed odd that Sherlock had changed his habits so dramatically. This doctor may have to be taken into account, Obsidian thought. If his information was correct, Sherlock lodged in 221b Baker Street with Dr John Watson and landlady Mrs Hudson. There was a vague reference to a brother whom Sherlock seemed to be estranged from. No Baker street would not do, Obsidian decided. Sherlock also spent time at St Bartholomew's Hospital, more specifically, the morgue.

Irene was not accustomed to being stood up. Gordon had called whilst she was 'dealing' with Sherlock. She had tried calling him at his office but there had been no reply. So she left a message on his phone saying where she would be and went to the restaurant 'Clematis'. Time passed, she had dinner and there was no sign of him. She sat at her table delicately sipping wine and watching the rest of the dinner guests. Part of the art of being Irene Alder was being able to attract attention when she wanted it and being able to fade into the background when she needed to. Time passed, there was still no word from Gordon. She tried calling his mobile but the phone rang out. Gordon's phone was fitted with GPS and since she knew Gordon's password she brought out her miniature laptop and started a search. At least she'd know where his phone was. The instinct she had that something was very wrong was growing. Sherlock's questions concerning her husband and his connection to Obsidian worried her. She had been furious with Sherlock when he refused to help her. Irene planned her revenge coolly with a level head. The little touch of leaving Sherlock's phone on but just out of reach of both arms and legs had been a master stroke. But only after she'd made sure that John Watson's number was on speak-dial. The GPS settled down and showed the map reference. She frowned, a number of possibilities had crossed her mind, ranging from 'another woman' to 'mortal peril' and seeing where the map showed his position to be she was rapidly favouring 'mortal peril'. Close inspection of the map showed Gordon to be in St Bartholemew's Hospital. She called them, asking if her husband was there, and if so what was wrong with him, only to be told that he was not there. It made no sense that he would leave his phone somewhere. His phone was his life. She was pretty sure it was the third most important thing in his life, after his business and and her, and she wasn't so certain about herself.

Irene relished danger but she wasn't stupid. She knew calling the police would be pointless as Gordon had not been missing long enough to warrant being 'missing', plus she had no actual evidence he was in danger, just what Sherlock called instinct. She glanced at her watch, he was probably free by now.

"Sherlock?" she dialled his number. She heard him sigh irritably. "Look, give me a good reason why my husbands phone is at St Bartholomew's Hospital, when he apparently isn't and I'll hang up." There was a moments silence.

"What happened Irene?"

"He tried calling me, but I couldn't answer. I tried calling him back and I got nothing."

"Do you have his email address and password?"

"Yeah. It's . and the password is 'I0alder' " She paused. "He's dead isn't he?" There was another silence.

"Yes." Sherlock paused. "I'm sorry Irene." She could feel her eyes welling up, and suddenly she felt as though she'd swallowed a marble.

"Listen Sherlock? Please be careful!" She managed to say. She heard his surprised response, which brought a brief smile to her lips.

"Erm, yes. Thank you."

Bart's mortuary was in darkness. Normally there were people around. Molly for example would be there seeming hopeful to catch Sherlock, but this time the place was empty and silent. Sherlock pushed the door open, he did not enter straight away but stretched out his hand to the light switch on the side of the door. The light flickered on. The room was still and seeming empty. There were the long post-mortem tables, recently cleaned and unoccupied. Fridges full of corpses lined the far wall were shut and locked as they should be. Cautiously Sherlock and John entered. The long lab table lining another wall had various pieces of equipment on it and a new computer that had not been plugged in.

"You don't think Gordon's in..." John nodded towards where the bodies where stored. Sherlock scanned the doors.

"None of them have been opened recently." Sherlock said. "Office." He indicated a small office which overlooked the room. The Venetian blinds were drawn so they could not see in through the window. Sherlock opened the door. Gordon was there, slumped backwards in the chair behind the desk. A single bullet hole through his forehead, the back half of his head spread over the wall behind him and on the floor.

"Strange. He's been shot very recently." Sherlock said with a frown as he walked over to the desk. He pulled in a breath as he saw the gun lying on it.

"What is it?" John asked joining him. It was John's gun, a browning L9A1. John leaned over to study it.

"It's not mine. The serial number is wrong." John said.

"That's not the point." Sherlock said levelly. "The first two murders were creative, gruesome. By comparison this one is neat and quick." He shook his head. "We've got to get out of here. Call the police..." At that moment they heard the door to the mortuary shut and lock. They spun round in time to be plunged into darkness. Sherlock quickly dug in his pockets and brought out a torch.

"Sherlock?" John asked.

"I think Obsidian is planning to set me up for the murder of Gordon Clark."

"Bravo!" Said a voice. It sounded close, the light of Sherlock's torch lit upon a small speaker sitting on the desk.

"Blackstone." Sherlock said.

"It is Blackstone?" John asked. Sherlock nodded.

"I like your pet. Is he hard to train?" The sarcasm audible in Blackstone's voice. John rolled his eyes.

"I am getting fed up with that." John muttered.

"How did you escape the electric chair?" Sherlock asked. "Ah of course." He breathed. "That must have galled you, having to go to a foreigner to set up your escape." Sherlock nudged John and together they started to make their way back to the door to the mortuary. Hopefully Sherlock would be able to pick the lock and get them out.

"What happened Sherlock? Decided you weren't safe on your own? Is that what he's for, to keep you alive as you're incapable of doing it yourself?" Sherlock's reaction was extraordinary. His fists clenched, his jaw set and he narrowed his eyes. They were in the outer room now, both backing towards where they knew the door would be. Suddenly John grabbed Sherlock's torch and shone it on the computer sitting on the lab bench. The screen had come to life and on it was a counter rapidly approaching zero. John ran towards it, picked up the computer and hurled it towards the window.

"John!" Sherlock shouted.

**BOOM**

Sherlock remembered being lifted of his feet and hurled backwards by the blast. The next thing he remembered was being shaken, someone shouting his name.

"Sherlock!"

"John?" Sherlock asked groggily.

"No. It's Lestrade. Listen you've got to get out of here!" He hauled Sherlock to his feet.

"What?" Sherlock sounded confused.

"Oh wake up! There's no time." Lestrade anxiously looked around. Sherlock's hearing was returning and in the distance he could hear sirens.

"A warrant has been issued for your arrest for the murder of Gordon Clark!"

"No. Mycroft..."

"Can't help you! He sent me here!" Lestrade physically pushed Sherlock away. "Now run you idiot!"

The message finally got through and Sherlock ran a few paces before stopping, a look of concern on his face.

"John's alive. I'll look after him. Now get out of here!"

He did not need to be told again. Sherlock ran as fast as he could. Hurtling down corridors and out of the nearest fire exit. Then he vanished in to the seething, crowded masses that populated London.


	8. Hospitals

Hospitals

Hospitals. John felt as though he was seeing too much of them from the wrong side. It is said that doctors make the worst patients and it is true. Mainly because they know what might be wrong with them. In John's case he was extremely lucky. Blast was a funny thing, he knew from Afghanistan. He remembered an incident with a landmine, three soldiers were close-by when it blew. Two had got blown to kingdom come and the third had suffered from minor cuts and bruises. John's shoulder wound had ripped open, which had been re-sown and he had little bits of wall buried in his leg, which had been easily removed. He knew he would have a few days enforced bed rest before he was allowed to move. There were policemen outside his door, but they wouldn't tell him anything, so he had no idea what had happened to Sherlock. He was eventually, after much pleading, allowed a television, which he immediately turned on to the news. The headlines did not make good reading. Sherlock Holmes wanted in connection with the death of Gordon Clark. The police thought Sherlock had killed Clark! He tried to tell the policemen that they had come into the morgue together and discovered his body. But he could tell from their expression they didn't believe him. Lestrade was oddly quiet. He couldn't be happy with this situation either, John thought. The rest of the police thought of Sherlock as a freak and a psychopath. Now John realised that Lestrade admired Sherlock and liked him, in his own way. The constant presence of the police around his room bothered him. He was told that he wasn't considered part of the crime. That meant the only reason they were there was because they thought Sherlock might come. Sherlock wouldn't come and see him...would he? Of course not. He would want to stay at liberty and track down Blackstone. He wouldn't come for John. He was too intelligent to walk into such an obvious trap. It would be impossible anyway, with the amount of policeman there. Even Sherlock Holmes couldn't bluff his way through all of them. Of course, Sherlock liked the impossible. John firmly pushed the thought away. It was too risky. But Sherlock liked risk too. John found himself hoping desperately hoping he overrated his friendship with Sherlock.

"I'm his pet dog." John said out loud to convince himself.

"Don't underestimate yourself John." a voice said from the door. John jumped, Mycroft had entered without him noticing.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Shoulder hurts a bit."

Mycroft walked to the other side of the room and looked out of the window.

"I'm sorry to hear it." he replied without looking at him. He crossed back to the door. Outside John could see a couple of policemen and a cleaner. John guessed he was a foreign worker brought it to reduce costs at the NHS. Mycroft frowned slightly then closed the door.

"Pet dog?" he queried sounding puzzled. John snorted.

"Blackstone said it. Actually so did Moriarty. They're probably right."

For the first time Mycroft looked a little concerned. The look quickly vanished.

"You represent a threat." Mycroft said

" To Sherlock?" John asked.

"To his enemies." John laughed

"Me?"

"Yes." Mycroft said seriously. "You remember a 'Study in Pink'?"

"Well, yes." John frowned.

"He would've taken the pill John." John stared at Mycroft the beginnings of understanding dawning in his mind.

"I think we understand each other." Mycroft said opening the door.

"Sometimes my brother can be remarkably dense, particularly in matters concerning himself. Goodbye John. Remember to keep warm." Mycroft left, leaving John more puzzled than ever. One day either Mycroft or Sherlock would speak plainly and he would faint with surprise.

He gave a startled yelp as a dark skinned hand clamped itself over his mouth.

"Shh. It's me." Sherlock's voice hissed. The hand was removed.

"Bloody hell Sherlock!"

Now he saw him up close, he recognised him. Sherlock was dressed as a cleaner, light white t-shirt that was too large for him and light blue trousers that were too small and bright yellow flip-flops. He'd darkened his skin, hands, arms, face legs and ankles. Just another foreign worker. John realised, people would barely acknowledge his existence, let alone notice him. Sherlock looked at him with a considerable amount of concern.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes I'm fine." John said sitting up. Sherlock looked at him frowning slightly.

"The explosion ripped my shoulder wound open. But it's nothing I can't handle. I'm fine."

Sherlock still looked concerned as though he was considering something.

"Can you walk?"

John smiled slightly. "And run, if necessary."

Suddenly a shout came from further down the corridor.

"Damn." Sherlock swore and ran to the window. There was a fire escape that was technically within jumping distance. He kicked off the flip-flops and opened the window.

"Remember the Golem John!" he said and vanished through the window. The door crashed open and Lestrade and Donovan ran in.

"Yeah that was him." Sally said and smiled evilly. "He won't get far though." she left.

Lestrade frowned at John, who shrugged innocently.

Please review. Reviews make me happy.


	9. Everything else is transport

Thank you for the reviews! They give me a warm glowing feeling. Here is the next chapter. Only 2 left to go!

Everything else is transport...that means _everything_.

As John left the hospital, he made a mental note to buy Lestrade a bottle of something. Lestrade had 'mislaid' some paperwork, which meant that the relief police officers meant to stand over him never came. He discharged himself. Walking the streets of London he contemplated Sherlock's last words:

"Remember the Golem."

Suddenly he stopped in the middle of the pavement. The Golem had been hiding amongst the homeless at Vauxhall arches. So that was where Sherlock was hiding. John frowned Mycroft had also mentioned something.

"Remember to keep warm."

It was a sufficiently odd thing for Mycroft to say it had stuck in his mind. He remembered that Mycroft had glanced outside whilst talking to him. Had he known Sherlock was there? Probably. _Keep warm_... It was February and very cold in London. In the end he decided that he would buy a blanket and head to Vauxhall arches to find Sherlock.

The arches were dark and grim even in daytime, it offered a degree of anonymity invaluable to those not wishing to be found. As John walked among them he was acutely aware of being intensely scrutinised. Faces looked at him suspiciously. He didn't want to attract attention by directly looking at them but he did need to locate Sherlock. He had expected to find him wrapped in his long grey overcoat, scarf wound around his neck. He was starting to think that maybe he'd interpreted Sherlock's clue incorrectly when he caught sight of a pale figure hunched with his back against a wall.

"Oh god Sherlock." John exclaimed with a horrified whisper. Sherlock hadn't managed to change. He was still in his cleaner disguise from the hospital, though he had managed to get most of the tan off his face. His arms were wrapped around his knees and he was trembling all over. John wrapped the blanket around him.

"The police were too efficient for a change." Sherlock said shivering. "Couldn't get back to my coat."

"Explains Donovan's look of triumph." John said crouching down beside him.

"So cold." he sounded irritated, as though he was blaming his body for somehow letting him down. John shook his head.

"I just hope no-one sees this." he said and shuffled close to him hoping his body heat would keep him warmer. He could feel Sherlock's shivering body against his.

"Why?" Sherlock asked.

"People will really think we're a couple."

This elicited a small smile from Sherlock.

"I should get you something warm to eat and drink."

"Although I agree in principle, in practice it's more difficult. The police will be looking for you." Sherlock said.

"How do I know they didn't follow me here?" John asked suddenly concerned.

"We would know if they had by now." Sherlock replied.

"We can't stay here Sherlock. We've got to get you some warmer clothes for a start."

"Looks like you guys could do with some charity." Sherlock looked up. Irene smiled back down at them.

"How did you get here?"

"I was sent an anonymous message. Here. Clothes, your size I think. I've even managed to find a long dramatic-looking coat."

They went to Irene's hotel. Irene made a dramatic appearance at the front and asked for her card key, whilst Sherlock and John sneaked in through the rear entrance. The met up in her room. Once there Irene and John managed to persuade Sherlock to have a shower, because he looked frankly odd with patchy dark brown and pale white skin. It was when Irene likened him to a panda and John snorting with laughter that he was finally convinced.

John took the opportunity to talk to Irene.

"How do you know Sherlock?" She looked at him smiling slightly.

"He's not said, has he?" She guessed. John sighed.

"Well he did promise to tell me. So you won't then?" She shook her head.

"He was involved in my divorce to my first husband. I met Gordon after that. It was never a love match, but as the years went by I loved him in my own way. It seemed that Obsidian was always there preventing us from being really happy. He would come into a room and all the happiness would leave him."

"You think he was blackmailing your husband?"

"It wouldn't surprise me. You don't get to the top of the financial tree without break a few branches on the way."

"What will you do?" John asked.

"Bury Gordon. Then, I don't know. Go back home probably. There's nothing here for me." She said sadly.

"I'm sorry." John said

"Thanks."

"How have you two been getting on?" Sherlock asked from the bathroom door, fully dressed and free of make-up.

"He's a lot sweeter than you." Irene said looking around at him. John was surprised to see Sherlock smile at this. John inwardly sighed with irritation, wondering whether he would ever find out what happened.

"Where do we stand?" John asked him.

"McFarlane was murdered because he had found out about the plan to set of a bomb in the stock exchange. He had drawn attention to the method."

"The empty computers?" John guessed. Sherlock nodded.

"Jamieson, I don't know. Maybe he got cold feet and threatened to reveal the plan, maybe he asked for more money to keep quiet. Either way he had to go."

"That explains McFarlane and Jamieson but what about my husband?" Irene paused slightly.

"Gordon Clark knew about the plan. He was sent to carry it out but couldn't due to the increase in security." Sherlock replied.

"He was killed because he couldn't carry out the job?"

"No. He was killed because he knew Obsidians real identity. You said that Obsidian was always around, from the first time you met Gordon?" He asked.

"Yes he was always there." Irene said.

"One of Obsidian's business interests was a model agency. The same model agency that Sonja Ross belonged to."

"You mean he deliberately introduced Geoffrey to Sonja, and made sure I found out?" She shook her head disbelievingly. "Looks like we were both played for chumps."

"Oh for Gods sake whose Geoffrey?" John suddenly exclaimed. Sherlock and Irene swapped looks.

"Hey, you're the one's whose embarrassed by our meeting." Irene said.

"Am not!"

"Oh yeah so why haven't you told him, if it doesn't matter?"

"You haven't said anything either." Sherlock pointed out.

"Only because I know how embarrassed you British get if you mention the word 'sex'." Irene rolled her eyes and moved to the small kitchenette attached. She was out of sight, but not out of earshot.

"Sex?" John said astonished. "You mean you and she..? Never." Sherlock levelled his gaze at John.

"No! No. You kidding!" John said shaking his head, hoping for some confirmation in Sherlock's eyes. Sherlock kept his gaze level.

"Bloody hell. What happ...no wait. I mean why?"

"I needed information." Sherlock said coolly.

"Information but..." John said still incapable of being more concise.

"Geoffrey Norton, Irene's first husband hired me to retrieve evidence of his infidelity with Sonja Ross. Irene had got film of him with Sonja. He was going to divorce her, but he wanted to kept most of his money as he knew Sonja would leave him without it. I was minded not to take the case, but I had heard of Irene and how clever and accomplished she was supposed to be. Considering the simplicity of the case, it wouldn't take too much of my time so I agreed. Irene had held back from giving the film to her attorney, but it was only a matter of time before she did. That night I hired a couple a couple of men to beat me up outside her apartment in New York."

"You had to _hire_ a couple of men to do that?" Irene said incredulously. Sherlock gave her an icy look.

"Sorry." she said and left again.

"Irene took pity on me, as I knew she would and took me up to her apartment. The plan was to set off the fire alarm so she would grab the most valuable thing in her possession, the film. Only I didn't realise that she had recognised me." John now turned to Irene who had re-appeared from behind.

"I'd been following some of his cases in the papers. His picture was in one of them. It wasn't difficult to connect him to my husband. I had trouble sleeping at the time and had some sleeping pills. I dissolved them into some wine and gave them to him. Then I came on to him rather heavily."

"So you thought the best way to find out where the film was to..." John screwed up his eyes.

"I said I needed information." Sherlock repeated.

"I knew I had about an hour before the pills would work, and I had to pass the time somehow." Irene said suggestively.

"Please! No details!" John said, his mind still incapable of processing the information.

"See, you can't please anybody. First he wants to know. Now he doesn't." Irene shook her head.

"What happened to the film?" John asked quickly changing the subject.

"Irene took it to her attorney whilst I was asleep." Sherlock said. "After Blackstone escaped the chair he needed a new identity. He went to Gordon Clark. Gordon Clark fixed the new identity and his price for doing so was you Irene."

"You know, we did have some happy times." Irene said sadly. Sherlock continued.

"Blackstone wanted me to get arrested for murder so I would be discredited. Any allegation I would make concerning his identity would not be considered seriously and as Gordon is now dead he will not be able to confirm the connection between Blackstone and Obsidian. The first attempt to get me arrested at Letchworth went wrong. I don't think he knew about Mycroft. Murder and terrorism are more serious crimes, though Mycroft could've helped, as a government advisor it would not reflect well on him." he paused

"His identity must come out."

Sherlock strode through the doors to the police station and grinned madly at the desk sergeant.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes, and I demand to be arrested."

Later Lestrade and a constable sat opposite Sherlock in an interview room.

"So you have an alibi for Gordon Clark's murder?"

"Yes, you need to speak to Irene Adler and Dr John Watson. At the time of Clark's murder I was…tied up."

"Who did murder Clark?" Lestrade asked.

"The same person who committed the ritual murders. Dr Edward Obsidian also known as Reverend Alexander Blackstone. Talk to the American authorities. He faked his execution and got Gordon Clark to set up his fake identity. Blackstone came to Britain."

"Evidence?"

"Plenty. Examine the financial records of the Church of Utnapishism, you'll find a direct link between Obsidian and Blackstone. I was involved in the Blackstone case. I can identify him."

"Plus we can get pictures of both men and compare them. But this doesn't place Blackstone at the scene of the crimes." Sherlock smiled.

"His followers will. You still have the two 'security guards'?"

"Yes we've still got them. Arte you sure?" Lestrade asked.

"Certain." Sherlock replied.

"Fine. I will go and arrest Blackstone."


	10. Don't mess with Mycroft

Don't mess with Mycroft

John was sitting with Sarah on her sofa watching the television. That is to say, the television was on and he was looking in it's direction but his mind was elsewhere. Sarah was apprehensive, she glanced occasionally in his direction biting her lip. His phone beeped. John practically pounced on it.

**Bored**. **SH**

John relaxed slightly.

**Hold on. Blackstone will try and kill you soon. JW**

** Wish he'd get a move on. SH**

"I thought he was only going to text when something happened." Sarah asked.

"You know Sherlock. He's not really one for rules."

Lestrade had issued a warrant for Blackstone's arrest and revealed to the media that Blackstone and Obsidian were the same man. Since then Blackstone had gone to ground. Sherlock had theorised that Blackstone would probably try to get to America, so for the time being, and much to the anger of the British public, all security checks had been doubled at airports. Blackstone had nothing left now. All his bank account and assets had been frozen. His followers had come out from hiding and giving gruesome details of the ceremonies that Blackstone had created. He was facing a lifetime in a British gaol, or extradition and eventual execution in the USA. Sherlock realised early on that Blackstone did have one thing left. Revenge. Sherlock had been responsible for his downfall in the US and now in Britain, it seemed likely that with nowhere to go Blackstone would try and kill him. John hadn't liked it. John had especially not liked moving out of Baker street temporarily as Sherlock insisted that Blackstone would not act with John there. Lestrade had 221b under discreet surveillance so if Blackstone tried anything they would be able to act. Two days had passed and so far nothing had happened. John was quietly hoping nothing would.

John's phone rang. Sarah raised an eyebrow. Only the call wasn't from Sherlock, it was from Lestrade.

"Have you heard from Sherlock?" He sounded breathless.

"He sent a text about an hour ago."

"Damn!" Lestrade cursed.

"What's happened?" John sat up concerned.

"A group of youths attacked our surveillance unit. By the time we'd chased them off Sherlock was missing."

"Any clues in the flat?" John asked.

"Signs of a struggle. Nothing definite." Lestrade replied

"No Sherlock would leave a clue." John said. There was a pause

"Then you'd better get over here. You know him."

You'd be hard put to spot the difference between 221b in it's normal state, and 221b after an epic fight. The only real clues being that one of the armchairs had evidently been thrown, and the jack knife instead of in it's normal spot in the mantle piece was buried in the wall. John searched the flat desperately trying to use Sherlock's methods and getting nowhere fast. Lestrade at least was being sympathetic, Donovan however was being he usual sarcastic self. Lestrade got a call on the radio.

"That was Letchworth. The house we sealed up has been broken into. A group of five were seen entering. From the descriptions one was definitely Blackstone, and one of the others was Sherlock. We'll head up there and bring them in."

"You want me to come?"John asked.

"No need. We can handle it from here." Lestrade said. At that point John was dismissed, unimportant and forgotten. Feeling at a loss, he decided to head back to Sarah.

It was the lack of purpose that bothered Sherlock. He had expected Blackstone to take some form of revenge but this made no sense. Apart from the odd snide remark from Blackstone, all he and his thugs had done was to tie him up, take him to Letchworth, and lock him in a cupboard. The cupboard door was only wood and he'd soon kick his way through that as soon as he'd finished with the ropes. They were good knots, but they weren't giving Sherlock too much trouble. The question was why Blackstone had bothered in the first place. The only other thing Blackstone had done was to take his phone. Blackstone was still in the building, Sherlock could hear him moving about. The sound of sirens and a megaphone told him the police had arrived. He untied the last knot and kicked open the door. He was greeted by bright torches shining in his eyes and a familiar voice exclaiming.

"Sherlock!"

"Lestrade."

"We've got Blackstone in the study. But he won't move until he talks to you." Lestrade said. Sherlock frowned, the feeling that there was something he'd forgotten beginning to eat away at the corner's of his mind. He followed Lestrade.

"Where's John?" He asked.

"Back at his girlfriends." Lestrade answered.

They entered the study. Blackstone was standing by his desk, his hands handcuffed in front of him. The desk was empty apart from Sherlock's phone lying in the centre.

"Let's see." Blackstone said, a disconcerting smile on his face. "Where do we go from here? I get extradited to America? You make some comment about me being executed properly this time?"

"International politics is not my subject." Sherlock said. Blackstone continued to smile.

"You didn't set this up in order to get caught." Sherlock continued.

"No. This way I get to see you squirm, and I get comfortable cell in this country."

"How?" Sherlock asked.

There was dead silence in the moment that followed. Blackstone looked at phone, the smile still on his face. The phone rang.

Sherlock's eyes flew to the phone, saw who was calling and looked at Blackstone, the fury building on his face.

"You'll want to answer that." Blackstone said with a sadistic grin.

John had woken in utter darkness. Trying to move he found that although he was untied he was in something very small and confined, but long as he lying stretched out. He closed his eyes taking a couple of steadying breaths. Three words were on the edge of his mind and he was trying not to think them. What he was lying on was disconcertingly comfortable, he even had a pillow. He moved his arm and gradually raised his hand. All too soon his hand hit the roof of the...coffin. He let out a breath which turned into a groan of despair. He had known where he was. His mind had unwillingly leapt to the conclusion as soon as he opened his eyes. The two other words he was trying not to think forced there way to the forefront of his mind.

Buried alive.

"Shit!" He swore out loud although it achieved nothing. He'd been under fire in Afghanistan. He'd been trapped in a field full of IED's. But there had other people around then. The rest of his squad. Here in the dark , cramped silence there was no-one. His heart hammered against his chest. He tried to control his rising panic. The air was running out. Suddenly something beeped. His phone! Someone had set an alarm on his phone! It took some contortion to get to it. He dialled the first number he thought of, hoping like hell Sherlock didn't ignore it.

"John. Where are you?"

Sherlock's voice came quickly and sternly over the phone. John was to preoccupied with his own situation to detect the worry and emotion in Sherlock's voice.

Buried alive in a coffin, John thought but the words simply wouldn't come.

"John, keep calm. Tell me where you are?" Sherlock's voice came again.

"Coffin. I don't know where. I was knocked out. I woke up here."

Lestrade thought he'd seen Sherlock angry, but compared to how he looked now, those times had been 'Sherlock slightly vexed.' Sherlock held the phone to his ear, his body still and taught like a highly wound spring. His usually grey eyes had turned completely black. Lestrade found himself stepping away from him. Sherlock turned his icy fury on Blackstone.

"If he dies, you will not leave this room alive."

"Sherlock!" Lestrade said, feeling that he should intervene.

"John." Sherlock said into the phone. "I will find you. I will get you out."

"Thanks. Please hurry, it's getting airless in here."

"Poor John." Blackstone said the smile still on his face.

"Where is he?" Sherlock growled.

"Doesn't work like that. Tit for tatt."

"We could check the places where we found the others?" Lestrade suggested.

"No." Sherlock said bitterly, "He'll have picked somewhere random."

He walked over to Blackstone and seized him by the throat.

"WHERE IS HE?" he roared, his eyes blazing.

It took two constables and Lestrade to physically drag Sherlock off Blackstone. The constables held him firmly whilst Lestrade stepped in front.

"Sherlock! We'll find him!"

"Yes you will, but will you find him in time? He can't have more than a few hours of air left."

"Sherlock!" a new voice said sternly. It was the kind of voice used to giving commands and having them obeyed. Mycroft came in. The constables melted away at his approach. The two brothers looked at each other for a long moment. Then Sherlock lowered his eyes and glowered at Blackstone. Lestrade had the distinct impression some form of non-verbal communication had taken place.

"Would you be so kind as to remove yourself and your men Lestrade. I would like to talk to Mr Blackstone."

"But..." Lestrade started in confusion, then he caught the look on Mycroft's face.

"Yes sir." Lestrade said, "Come on. Everyone out." The rest of the police looked confused but obeyed. Blackstone was starting to look a little worried. The last to leave was Sherlock who glanced at his brother before putting the phone to his ear as he left.

"John. Hold on. We'll get you out soon."

"I'm not going anywhere..."

As the door closed behind them Sherlock leaned against it letting out a long breath. Most of the police were keeping their distance from him.

"What's he going to do?"

"Blackstone will regret not answering me." Sherlock said darkly.

Ten minutes of low murmuring was all that could be heard from the room. Eventually Mycroft opened the door. As the police filed back into the room they found Blackstone very quiet and extremely co-operative.

"The site of Olympic car park B. Four paces in front of the uh portaloos."

Ooh 1 chapter left! Reviews are lovely. I like reviews! So please leave one!


	11. Pretty in Pink

Pretty in Pink

Sherlock stood as still as a statue staring at the mantelpiece. The sunlight filtered in through the curtains heralding the dawn of another day. John had been shaking and pale when they'd brought him out of the coffin. Much to his annoyance, he'd been taken to hospital again and they'd threatened to keep him overnight for observation, but Mycroft had insisted he'd be fine at 221b. John had clearly not been in the mood to talk and Sherlock did not push him. He'd gone straight to bed whilst Sherlock had stayed awake. He was amazed at the burning anger he felt. There was another feeling that worried him even more: helplessness. Anger could be controlled, utilised, compartmentalised. Helplessness? That peculiar sinking feeling, of being out of options he didn't know what to do with it. He'd only felt this way once before, when he'd first seen John with the semetx strapped to his body.

I will burn you...

Moriarty's words came back to him. Is this what it felt like? He wondered. He could feel bitterness rising in his chest. Whilst John was around, he was a liability. Moriarty and other like him would try to get to him through John. John had to go. It was the logical decision. He gritted his teeth and threw himself into the couch. It had been so different and interesting having John around. Someone who'd he learned to rely on entirely. Someone who admired his techniques and didn't call him a freak. Someone who put up with him. Someone who actually _liked_ him. However, emotion must be put aside, John had to leave for his own safety. He allowed himself a few seconds of hatred aimed at Moriarty. It did **burn**. He heard John coming down the stairs. Sherlock's acute hearing had picked up John tossing and turning in bed all night. He launched himself out of the couch and took a position by the window, with his back to the door.

"Morning Sherlock." John said. He could hear the slight puzzlement in his voice.

"John." Sherlock acknowledged, still not turning around.

"Tea?" John asked. When Sherlock did not reply he continued. "Are you alright?" Sherlock sighed.

"It might be best if you moved out John." He said slowly. He kept his back to him, as he didn't want to see John's face.

"You're not serious." John eventually said. Sherlock's irritation grew. Why couldn't John see his logic?

"I'm a dangerous person to be around..."

"I know. I've seen what you leave in the fridge." John retorted. Sherlock spun round.

"You're a liability!" He shouted. He felt stung by the look on John's face. Stunned and hurt John sunk into an armchair. Sherlock turned away again. A thought occurred to John and he sat forward, narrowing his eyes at Sherlock's back.

"Hasn't it occurred to you in that massive intellect of yours that you are less of a threat on your own? That without back-up you're easier to trap? What would've happened if I hadn't turned up at the taxi driver case?" Sherlock didn't turn back, but John could see he had given him cause for thought. After a few moments silence, John lowered his eyes.

"Do you want me to go?"

"No." Sherlock said quickly. "It would be safer for you if you did."

There was another awkward pause.

"You'll never find another flatmate willing to put up with human limbs littering the kitchen."

Sherlock turned then, the corner's of his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Breakfast?" John asked, letting out a deep breath. Sherlock frowned. "It's Saturday." John told him.

"Oh. Ok then." Sherlock replied.

"Good" John said getting up and heading for the kitchen. "because if you'd said 'no' I'd have force fed you."

Sherlock's mobile rang.

"Mycroft." He answered it.

"You didn't send me a postcard. I'm disappointed."

"Postcard?" Sherlock sounded puzzled.

"From the guilt trip I presume you've just been on." Mycroft said.

"What do you want Mycroft?" Sherlock asked curtly.

"Blackstone's extradition has been confirmed. I thought you'd like to know."

"I suppose I should thank you for sending Irene the anonymous message telling her where I was?" Sherlock asked. There was a pause. Mycroft's voice came worriedly over the phone.

"Sherlock, I didn't tell her anything."

John came back into the room, just as Sherlock was putting down the phone.

"Moriarty." Sherlock said coolly. "I thought I detected his lizard-like features in the case."

"Moriarty?"

"Yes. Blackstone had a special suit made for his execution. It was made with a special conductive material sown into the fabric so when the electricity was switched on, the suit acted like a Faraday cage and discharged harmlessly into the floor. Someone had to do that for him. Someone had to swap bodies and put Brody Chandler into Blackstone grave."

"I though that was Gordon Clark."

"No, Blackstone was put in touch with Clark after his death had been faked. It was Moriarty."

"But if Moriarty told Irene where you were, doesn't that mean he was working against Blackstone?"

The phone beeped. But it wasn't John's or Sherlock's phone. It had lain silent and innocuous for months, gathering dust on the mantle piece. A small shock of pink almost hidden amongst the debree.

"I didn't turn that on." Sherlock said in a low voice. He stood and walked over to the phone. There was a text on it.

**Hello sexy.**

** Thanks for disposing of Blackstone. To tell you the truth, he was becoming a pest. I hope Irene found you in good health. See you very soon.**

** JM**

** P.s. Lizard-like? Really?**

"You said that here! A few seconds ago!" John exclaimed. Sherlock started to text on his own mobile.

"I'll text Mycroft. His people can sweep our apartment."

"You think the place is bugged?"

"The only way he could've heard us." Sherlock said as he sent the text. "He's trying to unsettle us." He paused. "John..."

"I said I'm staying." John said determinedly. Sherlock half smiled.

"I smell something burning." He said kindly.

"Oh shit." John ran back into the kitchen.

A second text arrived on the pink phone. John was too busy trying to rescue bacon to notice.

**Nice to see you have your pet house trained.**

Sherlock deleted it.

The end...?

This is a shameless plea for reviews! I like reviews. I live for reviews. So pretty please with purple sparkly glitter?

Also there might just be a sequel. Maybe, just maybe...


End file.
